


Let Me Sleep, And Dream of Flying

by TheGameIsOn_Geronimo



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, Gen, MJN Air Is A Family, Sleep, Sleepiness, Slight Douglas/Martin maybe if you squint, Slight Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-11
Updated: 2014-04-11
Packaged: 2018-01-19 00:37:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1448803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGameIsOn_Geronimo/pseuds/TheGameIsOn_Geronimo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Or the 5 times Martin Fell Asleep and people noticed, and the one time no one really cared.</p>
<p>Martin Crieff is always tired, mainly due to the long hours he spends flying, the busy van job to earn a living, and the poor living conditions he has to slumber in. It's because of this, that he falls asleep in various places, only to be found by the MJN Air Crew.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let Me Sleep, And Dream of Flying

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Cabin Pressure Fic, so I hope it's okay - I just wanted some sleepy Martin and I couldn't find very much so I thought I'd try writing my own.  
> All characters belong to John Finnemore and the cast and crew of Cabin Pressure  
> Unbeated, so all mistakes are my own - sorry if you find any.  
> I hope you enjoy :)

Martin Crieff - no, _Captain_ Martin Crieff - always felt tired.   
  
At the moment it wasn't the dragging weight kind of tired that came with the frantic cramming for exams, before the inevitable depression he had felt after the six times he'd failed. It wasn't the tried that dragged at his bones and made him not want to move out of his bed because life just seemed pointless. It wasn't even the kind of tired he had always felt after a shouting or beating from his father, one that made him want to curl up into a ball and forget the world.  
  
It was actually a fairly nice kind of tired - the kind that meant he was doing something - something that he enjoyed - and was very busy. Yes, it would be nice to have big more time off between flights and deliveries, and not to have the little rest he scavenged interrupted by hunger pangs or cold blasts of wind through the thin walls of his attic. But still, the tiredness was worth the flying.  
  
It was because of this all round tiredness that he found himself falling asleep in unusual places, normally when he should have been doing something else. But that was okay, because MJN air - that little family he had discovered in a very rare piece of luck - didn't seem to mind all that much.

 ***

 ‘Benedict Cumberbatch...’

‘Good one, hmm Helena Bonham Carter.’

Martin leaned back in his chair, studying his hands as he tried to think of another actor. He tried to stretch out his legs from where they were starting the ache from being sat down for too long (and they still had to get to Las Vegas, land and then go all the way back), and stifled a yawn while saying,

‘Roger Allam?’

‘Yep, yep. Martin Freeman’

At that moment, the light deck door pulled open and a beaming (as usual) Arthur virtually bounced into the enclosed room.

‘Hello chaps! Coffee, Coffee, Coffee!!’

‘Oh, hello Arthur,’ Martin looked up from the flight controls and accepted the mug of dark coffee being pushed under his nose. ‘Noel Clarke, Douglas?’

‘Was he the one in Doctor Who?’

‘That’s the one.’

‘Very good then, ummmm...’

‘Oh, brilliant what are we playing?’ Arthur grinned broadly at them both.

‘We’re playing name British actors whose first name starts with the last letter of the previous one.’

‘Brilliant!’

‘Arthur, you find all our games brilliant.’

Arthur frowned slightly before grinning broadly again, ‘That’s because they all are!’

Martin rolled his eyes, a slow smile spreading across his lips – trust Arthur to think everything in this world was amazing, it just couldn’t help but make him smile.

‘Well, seeing as Arthur is here to keep you company, Douglas’ Martin started, pushing himself up from the Captain’s chair and stretching his back and arms, ‘I’m going to get a quick leg stretch’, before moving out of the flight deck. He just managed to hear Arthur say ‘Yay, Douglas, pretty please can I push a button?’

Chuckling, he made his way into the cabin while he raised his arms over his head to fully stretch them out. He strolled all the way to the tail of the plane, then turned back around and started to head back. However, he didn’t want to go back to the flight deck just yet.

Sighing, he carefully lowered himself into one of seats on the front row in the cabin and leaned back. The relief of the more comfortable cushioning was instant, and Martin groaned quietly as he stretched his back and virtually melted into the soft material. He pulled his legs up onto the chair too, half sitting on them so all of his short frame would fit, and closed his eyes. It was warm, and relaxing and clearly Martin hadn’t realized quite how tired he was, because he found himself slowly starting to drift off.

It was a shaking of his shoulder that woke him, without him even realizing he’d fallen asleep. He blinked open his eye groggily and looked at the grinning face in front of him – Arthur.

‘Hey, Skip!’ He greeted brightly, ‘You need to get up now, I need to do the hovering.’

‘What?’ Martin exclaimed with growing alarm, ‘How long was I asleep for?’ It slowly started to make its way into his consciousness that there was no engine noise, and that the plane was silent and the door was open. He scrambled to his feet, straightening his hat that had been knocked askew as he slumbered.

‘About 3 hours. We landed about 10 minutes ago, I told Douglas that I found you asleep and looking all snugly, so he said I should leave you to rest.’

‘Did he really say that?’

Arthur’s face screwed up slightly, ‘Well, it was a bit more embellished than that, and I think he may have taken a picture, but other than that I think the message was generally similar.’

‘Okay, thanks Arthur.’ He said, moving away from the smiling steward towards the flight deck to collect his bag. Entering, he found Douglas just finishing the post landing checks and getting ready to rush out to wherever he wanted to go in Las Vegas before they flew off again.

Douglas looked up as the door slid open, a raise of one eyebrow (a trick Martin could never accomplish) telling Martin all he needed to know about how Douglas was going to use his nap against him.

‘Ah, has our gallant captain stopped playing sleeping beauty now?’

‘Shut up, Douglas.’ Martin mumbled, grabbing a book out of his bag to read in the airport.

‘By all means, I know your beauty sleep is very important to you, _Sir,_ but perhaps it could wait till we have landed the plane next time?’

‘Sorry.’ Martin shuffled his feet and started turning red as the snide comments washed over him.

Douglas’ face softened slightly, ‘It’s okay. I would have woken you if I needed your help to land. Just make sure you go straight to bed when we get home, alright.’

Martin blinked, stunned at this sudden compassion in Douglas’ voice, ‘Thanks,’ he stammered, ‘I will.’ He turned to move out of the flight deck, and smiled slightly as he heard Douglas say loudly and clearly that he had a picture that he was not afraid to use as blackmail, but to Martin it meant that Douglas didn’t mind and was maybe slightly concerned about his welfare, and that was okay.

***

Words shouldn’t blur together like this, he finally decided as he rubbed his eyes for what must be the millionth time, in order to try and make the words in front of him clearer. He scowled and blinked as he filled in a few more lines of the flight log. He just had to get this done, just these last few pages, and then he could go home. He was just so tired.

Slowly, he realized his pen was slipping out of his fingers, leaving a trail of ink over the page. Hurriedly, he pulled himself up, when had he slumped over the desk again? And held the pen tighter, trying to get another sentence out onto the paper. Unfortunately, it seemed his brain had turned into mush at some point in the evening, and was now adamantly refusing to translate thoughts into legibly written word.

He sighed, bending over and leaning his head on the desk. He just needed sleep, they’d been flying all day, and the day before he had had two van jobs that had taken up all his time, and the cold seeping into his attic room had kept him awake as his threadbare blanket barely shut out the chill. But the portacabin was heated, and the stuffy air was making his eyes try to droop closed of their own accord, even as he fought to keep them open.

He tried to shake himself up again, come on just these last pages, but his head ached and the words looked far too much like smudges on the white sheets, and his head was just too heavy to lift up again, and his arms were actually quite soft to cradle his head on, and, and, and...

Someone was talking to him. It was hazy in his dreams of clouds and blue sky, but there was definitely a cutting voice trying to get his attention. He wished it would go away, he was comfortable, and flying in dreams felt even freer that flying in an aeroplane while conscious.

‘Martin? Martin?’

The voice was softer now, and was soon accompanied by a light shake of his shoulders. He moaned quietly as he was drawn out of the sky in his dream, to his head lying on his desk in the portacabin.

Awareness came back so very slowly, it was so peaceful like this – in that lull between true wakefulness and unconsciousness. Next to him, he could hear noises of someone moving around, but he really didn’t want to open his eyes and see who it was. They came closer and he felt movement under his arms as they tried to shift the pages of paperwork from under his weight. He grumbled his annoyance to whoever it was, and tried to shift his heavy body slightly to the left to make their job easier.

Above him he heard a light chuckle and felt a small pat on the back as he listened to the papers being collected up and put into his desk draw for tomorrow. The voice came back, this time from behind him, as his chair was pulled away from the desk slightly with a grating noise of the chair legs on wood. His arms slipped off the desk, his head lolling after them as he groaned again.

‘Come on, sleepyhead.’ The soft voice returned, ‘let’s get you home.’

With all the effort he could muster, Martin pried open his eyes, as a strong, bony hand grabbed his upper arm and heaved him up. It was Carolyn. Martin blinked a few times in surprise, trying to stop his eyes sliding shut again, and looked blearily at her. She noticed his grey eyes were visible, and smiled – not the shark-like smile she often used, this smile was kind and almost motherly.

‘You’ve been overworking yourself again, Martin,’ She tutted while still smiling, and pulled him out of the portacabin, flicking the light out after them. Martin stumbled along behind her, his mind not quite catching up, making everything disjointed and blurry. He was forced into the passenger seat of Carolyn’s car, his mouth not even responding enough to form any objection.

He slumped against the cool window as the engine started and they left the airport. His eyes started to drift shut again, and soon he fell back into the oblivion of sleep.

The next morning, he’ll wake up fully rested in his attic, and after panicking about how to get to the airport on time, as his van is still parked there, Carolyn and Arthur will drive to the student house and pick him up without being asked to. He’ll clamber into the backseat without a comment, and he’ll be very grateful as she won’t mention the night before once.

***

Empty blue sky over a blanket of fluffy white cloud was fairly hypnotic, Martin thought as he gazed out of the front window of the plane. The sun was setting in front of them, casting its golden orange rays into the enclosed space of the flight desk.

It was a beautiful colour, one not harsh enough so it hurt your eyes, yet still powerful in its intensity. Martin huffed out a breath into the silent flight deck, glancing at Douglas, who was also looking out of the window.

He leaned his head back into the headrest, laying his hands in his lap as there were no controls that needed his attention. He rolled his head to the side to continue watching the clouds and the sun as it sank lower and lower and lower.

Yes, Martin thought, it was beautiful and so peaceful up here, in the empty sky. Martin had always wanted to fly since he was a boy, and now here he was, flying miles and miles all around the world with nothing to stop him. A slow smile crept across his face, he had succeeded in his dream, and that made him feel warm all the way to the tips of his toes.

He didn’t realize his eyes had shut of their own accord until he blinked them open again. He shuffled in his seat to try and make himself stay awake, yawning into his sleeve and glancing sideways again at Douglas to ensure he hadn’t noticed his momentary lapse in concentration. He blinked and rubbed his eyes to try and get them to stop aching – that was the problem with long flights, they made him tired, especially when he’d had a hard time finding van jobs lately, leaving a hollow hunger in his belly and utterly no energy to spare.

He tried to push himself up straighter, flicking a few switches that wouldn’t really do anything just to keep his hands busy. But soon there was again nothing to do, and he found himself sliding down the padded seat to find a more relaxed position. He fought to keep his mind busy, but the never changing view wasn’t helping.

Dutifully, he started to recite the flight manuals in his head, going through every page and every word he had memorized all that time ago. Slowly, his eyelids and head got heavier and heavier, until his head hit the headrest and his eyes slid shut. He didn’t have the heart to open them as sleep welcomed him with open eyes.

It was Douglas talking to ATC that awoke him. The flight deck was dark as he jerked awake and looked around to get his bearings. Douglas’ hands were on the controls, and looking out of the front window, Martin could see the airport laid out in front of them. He shifted, and a blanket that had been draped over him fell away from his chest onto his lap. He glanced at Douglas, but didn’t make a sound, just quietly flicked some switches and prepared for landing.

He expected sarcastic remarks and snide comments once they had landed. He’d fallen asleep on the job yet again dammit, and in the flight deck on top of everything. But it didn’t seem like anything was forthcoming. Douglas and Martin carried out the post flight checks as normal, and then Douglas got up to collect his bag and hurry off home before being roped in to do paperwork.

It was only at the door when he turned back to Martin and said ‘Here’s a twenty’, throwing it onto Martin’s lap, ‘as I was a medical student, can I recommend a warm meal and a good nights sleep, alright?’ And then he whisked out of the flight deck, leaving Martin, twenty pounds richer and blinking like he couldn’t believe what had just happened.

***

‘I’m not sleeping in the same bed as you.’

‘Oh, come on Martin, we’re two grown men, nothing weird is going to happen. All we’re doing is making best use of the circumstances.’ Douglas stated with his I-know-everything voice.

‘Making best use of the circumstances is for one of us to sleep on the floor.’ Martin argued despite knowing it was futile.

‘If one of us sleeps on the floor, they will be uncomfortable and then probably be outside legal flying hours, so the best thing we can do if both sleep in the _double_ bed. Honestly, I don’t know why this is such a problem.’ And there was his I’m-always-right voice.

‘Fine’ Martin spat out through gritted teeth, ‘I’ll use the bathroom first.’ And with that he spun round, slamming the bathroom door behind him and resigning himself to an incredible awkward night.

It was barely half an hour later when both men were sat on their respective sides of the double bed. Douglas was the first to throw back the covers and pull his feet up off the ground and lay down on the bed, pulling the thick (quite rare for their normal hotel visits) duvet back over himself.

Martin fumbled around with the things on the bedside table for a bit – his watch, making sure the alarm was going to go off at the correct time, shuffling his book around so it was not at risk of falling off (it hadn’t been anyway but what harm was there in making sure) and then flicking off the lamp when he realized there was nothing else he could waste time doing.

He took a deep breath and then maneuvered himself under the covers, snuggling down the bed to lay his head on the pillow. He carefully balanced himself right on the edge of the mattress, scared of getting too close to Douglas even through there was half of the bed between them.

In the darkness all he could here was Douglas’ steady breathing, that started to even out in sleep, and the soft rustling of sheets as he shifted to find a more comfortable position. Martin remained tense, curled up on his sides with his arms hugging the blanket around him to make a tight cocoon. He had already resigned himself to get barely any sleep tonight, but slowly the heat contained under the covers started to seep into his bones, relaxing them and causing him to sink slightly more into the mattress. He pushed his head further into the yielding cotton pillow and was soon dead to the world.

It was a few hours later when Martin was roused into a half-asleep daze by a heavy weight settling over his waist. He shifted slightly, stretching his legs out, and pushing back into the solid heat that was settled behind him. If his brain had been more online, he may have noticed that what he was snuggling back into was far too hard to be a feathery duvet, and yet he drifted back into slumber without a second thought.

Douglas was the first out of the pair to wake up fully the next morning. He came sluggishly back into consciousness and the light of the real world while reveling in the all encompassing warmth around him. He blearily worked out that it was far too warm to just be his residual body heat, and that the object wrapped in his arms was far more skinny and bony than the bodies he usually slept with, causing him to open his eyes as the previous night came back to him.

The first thing he saw was a shock of bright ginger hair that his face was undoubtedly buried in. Breathing in through his nose in surprise, as he pulled away from the curled hair in front of him gave him a scent of mint, tea, faded leather seats and a distinctly Martin-y smell. He drew back further, his brain just starting to function at his usual speed, and then noticed that one of his arms was positioned over Martin’s waist and the other caught under him, so Martin was enveloped in his arms. He also realized that Martin’s back had been pressed into his chest, meaning that he had be spooning – _spooning –_ with his captain.

Carefully, he pulled his arm out from under Martin’s weight and then sat up in the bed. He watched Martin readjust in his sleep as he subconsciously noticed the loss of heat and weight next to him. Douglas’ eyes scanned over his thin shape wrapped in the duvet, and then stared at his face that was now visible from his new vantage point.

Martin’s face was smooth in sleep, the frown lines made from stress over money and his van wiped clean away in the realms of dreamland. His hair was ruffled, the unruly curls spreading out every which way over the pillow. His cheeks had a rosy hue instead of the gaunt white he sometimes appeared after not eating or sleeping well, and his long lashes rested lightly on his prominent cheekbones.

Douglas was just admiring the slope of Martin’s lips when he realized what he was doing and quickly snapped himself out of it, blushing slightly even when there was no one to see him. Slowly, he leant over and tucked the blanket more tightly around Martin’s slim frame. He pushed his fingers through Martin’s silky locks, and then pulled himself off the bed and retired to the bathroom to get ready for their flight.

It will be twenty minutes later when Martin will blink awake and get up, a pillow imprint on the side of his face. He’ll get changed and then realize that he encroached on Douglas’ side of the bed from where he woke up, but he won’t question it, and Douglas would not say anything, of course.

***

Saying that Martin felt terrible would be a complete understatement. His head was pounding, his limbs aching and feeling far too heavy to lift, his throat sore like he had been swallowing glass, and he was shivering. He stumbled onto GERTI while trying to muffle a harsh cough followed by a loud sneeze and made his way to the flight deck.

He almost collapsed into his seat, sagging into the worn leather and pulling his uniform jacket tighter around himself to try and fend off the chills wracking his frame.

He really should have called in sick today, he knew that. This blasted flu had been stalking him for days now, sapping most of his energy but only breaking out into proper symptoms once he’d finally had a day off. At least today was only a short flight – only 2 hours to Iceland - but they still had to stay over so they could take the customer home the next day.

He leaned his head back and dozed slightly as he waited for the others to arrive. They did so in their usual manner – loudly. He groaned as he heard Carolyn’s shouting as they entered the plane, followed by Douglas’ low drawl as they came closer to the flight deck. He buried his head in his hands, trying to alleviate some of the pain burrowing into his head while trying to rub the sleep out of his bleary eyes.

He straightened up as best he could, trying to look at least a little bit professional as Douglas entered the room and took his seat after stowing his bag away.

‘Good morning, Martin!’ Douglas sounded far to chipper compared to how Martin was feeling. ‘How is _Sir_ to – Good Lord, you look terrible!’

Martin slumped down in his seat again – what was the point of keeping up an act when he knew it was obvious he looked like Hell.

‘Hmmm,’ he agreed, ‘Got the ruddy flu.’

Douglas stared at him for a few seconds, and Martin waited for the inevitable cutting remark about how he didn’t want to be trapped in a metal container with so many germs. Instead, his face softened into what was that? Concern? From Douglas?

‘Are you sure you should be flying, Martin?’

‘Yeah, I’m –‘ he broke off to cough loudly into his sleeve, ‘I’m fine, let’s just get GERTI in the air and get going.’

Douglas nodded, looking him over once more, before getting up and mumbling about going to do the walk around. Martin closed his eyes again, allowing all his limbs to just go limp and flop for a minute.

He roused himself again when Douglas walked back in, trying to look at least partly perceptive despite the dragging weight in all of his muscles.

He helped with take-off, giving over most of the controls to Douglas who just accepted them without comment, and once they were happily flying along on autopilot, he pulled his legs up onto the seat, and curled up, trying to gain some warmth in the draughty flight deck.

He glanced over at Douglas to find his eyes on him, and shifted self-consciously under his gaze.

‘Get some sleep, Martin’ Douglas practically ordered, ‘You need it.’

Martin knew better than to argue with him, just getting up this morning had drained him of most of his energy reserves. He curled up tighter, tucked his head down on his shoulder and closed his eyes, falling very quickly and very deeply asleep.

He was shaken awake what seemed like two seconds later, and struggled to open his eyes that felt like they’d been glued shut while he napped. In front of him, swimming in and out of focus, was the worried face of his First Officer.

‘Martin, you’re burning up.’ He sighed, but the words jumbled up in Martin’s brain so he just blinked questionably at him. He wanted to go back to sleep, every part of his body hurt.

A voice to his left caught his attention and he turned his head slightly, the world spinning around him, just in time to see Arthur hand Douglas a bottle of water. Douglas unscrewed the cap and held it up to Martin’s lips, allowing blessedly cool water to trickle between them and down his raw throat. Martin gulped eagerly, trying to gain as much moisture as possible, but soon Douglas pulled in away.

‘Come on Martin, you need to get up now. Do you think you can manage it?’

Martin tried to nod, but that sent to world spinning in dizzying circles. He clutched the arm rests and tried to push himself onto his feet, only to find his legs had become jelly during the flight. He staggered sideways, only for Douglas to carefully steady him with his hands on his shoulders.

‘Okay, you can’t walk like this.’ Douglas conceded, and then Martin was being lifted up into a fireman’s carry and moved out of the flight deck.

He struggled feebly, but the movement made him nauseated, so he buried his face into Douglas’ neck to bloke out the light and spinning scenery. Slowly, the rocking movement started to loll him into sleep, and he relaxed into Douglas’ warm body and allowed unconsciousness to take over.

***

Their flight had been delayed by six hours. That meant six hours of sitting around, doing nothing in the airport. They had acquired some seats in the gate lounge, while Arthur had gone off to find them all tea, and, of course, the essential Toblerone.

Now they were all sat, just waiting as the sun set outside the large glass airport windows. They were all exhausted, having flown all the way to Sydney, and were all severely jet lagged. They huddled together on the uncomfortable plastic chairs and focused on staying awake, occasionally playing a short word game to take their minds off their boring and unlucky circumstances.

It was Arthur who lost the battle to stay awake first; he lay down over Carolyn’s lap, his head resting on Martin’s thighs. Carolyn lifted a hand and carded it through his brown hair in a rare display of motherly affection. Martin watched all the tension melt out of Arthur’s muscles, until he was merely a boneless weight on his legs.

Suddenly, he felt a load land on his shoulder. Looking around quickly, he found Douglas’ head resting on him. His hat was falling off from the angle he was leaning at, and Martin reached up with his free arm (the one that wasn’t being crushed by Douglas’ body, and carefully pulled it off his First Officer’s head, resting it next to Arthur’s face on his lap. He looked at Douglas’ eyes, closed tightly in his fatigue. His middle-aged face looked younger while napping, the wrinkles around his eyes smoothing out slightly. His lips were parted slightly, and Martin could feel every expansion of Douglas’ chest next to him as he breathed calmly.

Another burden appeared on Martin’s other shoulder, and he snapped his head around. He started slightly at the sight of Carolyn’s smooth, white hair leaning on him, but not enough to wake his sleeping co-workers. Carolyn’s hand was still buried in Arthur’s hair, her fingers still in sleep. He couldn’t make out her face from where he was sitting, but it was probably slack from the sudden doze.

He let out a sudden laugh, finally noticing that the whole of MJN Air was leaning on him and napping, which was a rare accordance considering that he was usually the one sleeping. He looked left and right, grinning to himself. Here, now, was where he felt comfortable. It was warm in their little pile, and he was surrounded by the people he loved.

MJN had become his family since he’d started working with them. He didn’t see his mother much, and barely talked to Caitlyn and Simon, and yet here he was, enclosed by people who loved him, and who he loved the most in the world.

Carolyn was like a mother – bossy and commanding, and yet prone to tiny, special moments of compassion and care. Arthur was like a younger brother – all unquenchable energy and extreme happiness topped with the eagerness of learning new things. And then there was Douglas, who was just well _Douglas._ Sometimes he was like a father, giving advice and looking after him, other times he was a big brother – teasing, rude and funny, and a lot of the time he was a best friend – kind and something Martin had realised he probably couldn’t live without.

So here he sat, surrounded by his little family that he had stumbled across in what could only be called luck on his part. Smiling, and feeling lighter and more relaxed than he had in months, he leaned his head sideways, laying his cheek in Douglas’ grey hair. He closed his eyes and breathed out through his nose as he allowed the tension to seep out of his bones.

And it was there, in a busy airport, encircled by the most important people in his world, that _Captain_ Martin Crieff finally fell into a restful sleep.


End file.
